The Things We Don't Say
by Lady Eglantine
Summary: Blackwall and the Inquisitor try to help each other through their nightmares. Set pre-Revelations.
1. -1-

_"Nothing haunts us like the things we don't say." -Mitch Albom_

* * *

 **-1-**

The moment he heard the soft whimpering, he knew something was wrong.

He had been peacefully sleeping (a rarity for him) when he was awoken by the noise. He was generally a light sleeper, bred into him from years of night raids as a mercenary and a soldier in the Orlesian army.

Even through the initial fog of sleep, it did not take long for him to realize the source of the sound.

Blackwall shifted onto his side, trying to get a good look at his lady beside him. She was also on her side facing him, but with knees drawn up towards her chest and arms snaked around them. Tear streaks from closed eyelids shone on her skin from the light of the full moon squeezing through the open balcony doors, her mouth open to emanate another string of distraught noises.

This was not the first time he had seen her in such a state, but it did not diminish the pain it caused him to see her so helpless. As much as he wished to just gather her up in his arms, he had quickly learned when she was in the throws of a nightmare to gradually wake her before doing so, else risk a reflexive swipe or kick.

He scooted himself closer, right hand reaching out to cup her cheek, left resting on the top of her head. At the sound of another whimper, he began alternating running his thumb just underneath her eye and the bridge of her nose, while his left hand traced circles on the crown of her head.

The change in Ellana was almost immediate, muscles in her face relaxing and her arms loosening their grip around her knees. Though she let out another cry, it was weaker than the others had been.

Even as she began to shift, he did not cease his ministrations, chancing a brief press of his lips to the center of her forehead. As he pulled away, he caught a breathy, "Ir abelas…ir abelas."

This was new. He had never heard her talk in her sleep. And he recognized that Elvish phrase, one of the few Ellana had taught him he could remember. Why was she sorry? Who could she be directing it towards?

With a sudden jolt and choked gasp, her eyes snapped open, wildly darting around as if trying to discern her surroundings. He shushed her, continuing to run his calloused fingers over her face and hair in an attempt to soothe her.

She blinked twice, clouded emerald eyes resting on his concerned face. Her breathing slowed as recognition flared within them, burning away some of the haze.

"Sorry I woke you," she said, voice as hoarse as if she had been crying for hours.

"It's ok," he said, retracting his hands as she sat up on the bed, knees again pushed up towards her chest. She kept one arm around them, the other used to wipe away the wet smears on her cheeks.

Minutes ticked by in silence. Usually it didn't take much for her to confess to him the focus of her nightmares. Of Haven, of Corypheus and the Temple of Sacred Ashes, of Alexius' dark future, of Adamant and the Fade. Of any number of terrible things befalling one of their companions, her clan, him.

Blackwall eventually followed her up, laying what was meant to be a comforting hand over the knee closest to him. "Are you alright, love?"

She covered his hand with her own clammy one in reply. She tried to smile reassuringly at him, but he did not miss the strain at the edges.

"I'll be ok, vhenan. Just a bad dream." Her hand fell away as quickly as it lay. "Just a bad dream."

His free hand found its way onto her back, hoping the gentle pressure acted as a stalwart presence, a silent encouragement for her to talk further. But all he got was an insistence that they try to go back to sleep.

He could not help the worry brewing inside him. It was not like her to be so vague or evasive. In fact, he had never met someone so upfront and honest (the opposite of what he had to be).

Understanding then dawned on him as he recalled the few other times she had had nightmares she refused to discuss, similar to how she acted with everyone on one topic in particular when asked about it.

Drawing away, he opened his left arm and gestured down to it with his head in silent invitation. She nodded, seemingly catching his meaning, and curled her body into his, her marked hand splaying itself against the thatch of dark hair on his chest. Ignoring the warm press of her breast against his side, he lowered them back down onto the bed, his hand returning to her back. Rubbing up and down it with his palm, he could still feel the lingering tension, over what he was sure was a nightmare about her sister.

He wished he knew more, beyond the simple fact that her sister had died. It clearly affected Ellana eight years later. He wished he could take away that pain or, at the very least, share the burden with her so she was not shouldering it alone.

But he never dared press further about the circumstances behind it, for fear of giving her unspoken consent to ask more about his past. One of the things he quickly came to realize about Ellana was how inquisitive she was, curious to know about everything and everyone. He knew she had to wonder. Wonder why he didn't tell her more, wonder about the things he refused to say. He had caught her staring at him more than once since they met, as if trying to decipher him. She had not pushed him since their relationship began, but he knew she would jump at any chance he gave her.

And he couldn't give it. He hated himself beyond measure for it, his selfishness, his cowardice. But he could not bear for her to despise him, not bear to lose her now.

Maker help him, he _loved_ her. And he didn't deserve to.

"Blackwall?"

His hand at her back stilled, noting the tremor in her call. "Yes, my lady?"

She gazed up at him from where her head laid on his shoulder, frozen tears now sparkling in her eyes. "Don't…" She broke off in a wavering breath, eyes slipping shut. She took a minute to compose herself before trying again. "I don't want to go back to sleep."

His heart ached at the hint of desperation he caught in her voice. He wished he could be her shield in the Fade, just as he was on the battlefield, but that was one journey he could not follow her on.

He craned his neck down to nuzzle his nose against her temple, offering what comfort he could. "I'll be right here," he said between kisses to her floral-scented hair.

She answered with her own kiss to the rough patch of skin at his shoulder, the corners of her lips lifting in a watery smile. "I know."

She then snuggled herself closer to him, not leaving any empty space between their bodies. "Tell me more about the tourney. The Grand Tourney you were in."

Securing her in his arms, he did as she requested and told her what he could, about this one glimpse into his past he had given her, to help chase the last remnants of her nightmare away. He told her of the sights and sounds, the contests, the Chevalier, descriptions of his (left nameless) competitors, the reward of a sage leaves coronet and the Celebrant trophy blade. Until her breathing finally evened out and deepened in a steady rhythm, having slipped into what Blackwall could only hope was a more peaceful sleep.


	2. -2-

**-2-**

The moment she heard the pained groan rumbling from the back of his throat, she knew something was wrong.

She had still been awake, listening to the pitter-patter of rain striking the top of their tent. Though a heavy sleeper, she had always had some difficulty falling asleep, especially when too much plagued her mind.

Spooning against him, her back to his chest, Ellana carefully turned herself around to face Blackwall. Sweat trailed from his forehead into his beard, eyelids looked painfully shut tight as if trying his hardest to block out whatever horror he was witnessing in his nightmare.

He didn't need this. It had been a rough enough day clearing out that dwarven port packed to the brim with red templars. Was it too much to ask for a good night's rest as reward?

Her left hand found its way onto his brow, running her thumb over one of the creases while her right lost itself in his beard, hoping the gentle touches would be enough to soothe him, as they had many times before while in the throes of a nightmare.

To her relief, this seemed to have the same effect, the low groan again building dying in his throat, the rigidness of his body abating little by little.

Ever the light sleeper, it did not take long for his eyelids to crack open, awareness filling his steel blue eyes as they fell on her.

"Hope I didn't wake you," he said, voice still gruff with sleep.

She shook her head. "Already awake."

He covered her hand still stroking his beard with his own. "Trouble going to sleep again?"

She nodded, but that was all she would give him. She knew what he was doing. She was not about to let him shift the focus of the conversation to her when it should be about him.

Ellana wiped away the bead of sweat on his forehead with her thumb. "You looked like you were having a really bad dream."

His face shifted into a look she had seen before, when he was closing himself off, his body tensing up again. "I'm fine."

The hand on his brow made its way to his chest, her marked palm resting over his heart as Ellana tried to determine a way to encourage him to talk. But he beat her to it, likely noticing the growing, troubled frown she was unable to conceal from her face. He took the hand already in his and kissed her knuckles.

"It's enough you're here, Ana. You don't need to concern yourself over me."

But why, she wanted to ask. It pained her just as much to see him suffering as she knew it did for him to see her. Why did he think himself undeserving of comfort, reassurance after a nightmare? He was always so willing to provide it to her; all she wanted was to do the same.

It vexed her. For however many months they had known each other, she still knew so little about him. Only that he was from Markham, participated in the Grand Tourney of the Free Marches, and that he had been a soldier. But not for whom. Nothing of his exploits as a Warden. Not even his given name. She knew he was a private man and she didn't want to prod him (or make him feel like she was), but he obviously trusted her with his heart. Why couldn't he trust her with more?

But how she was too quick to remind herself; he wasn't the only one who was holding things back. She also had things she refused to say about her past, froze him out whenever she had certain nightmares.

It was certainly not a matter of trust, telling him about what happened to Bri. But Ellana could never bring herself to do it, that subject and the circumstances that led to it still too raw a wound to discuss, even after eight years.

Perhaps it was just a matter of time and patience. And (she also reminded herself) knowing more about each other's' pasts didn't change the here and now, didn't diminish how much she loved him.

And, Creators, did she _love_ him. She was in deep, she knew that now. A few nights ago, after another Bri-related nightmare, she had almost pleaded to him, made him swear not to leave her. But Ellana had caught herself, knowing how unrealistic and unfair it was for him to give such a promise, with his Calling who knew how many years away, no matter how much it pained her to think about. But how she would treasure the time she had with him until that day.

She kissed him gently on the slightly-misshaped ridge of his nose (another thing she hoped to get the answer to someday).

"Whatever you need of me, vhenan," she said, a way to let him know she was there for him, whether he wanted to talk or not.

Blackwall pulled her closer to him, eyes closing, though she doubted it had much to do with sleep. "My lady."

She kissed him again, this time brushing her lips against his in affirmation of her words. His kiss was just as light, lacking the heat of some of his previous ones, though no less genuine.

They settled themselves against each other again, Ellana on her back this time, Blackwall remaining on his side. His head rested against her shoulder, his arm a solid weight over her waist. Her left hand ended up in the wild tangles towards the back of his head. But despite her gentle combing motions, she could feel the remaining tension in his body.

Without thinking, she began humming the first two verses of a lullaby, one of many songs her mother had sung to her and her sister whenever they had trouble falling asleep.

"That sounds nice," Blackwall muttered against the slope of her shoulder. "Don't think I've heard that one before."

"It's Dalish. 'Mir Da'len Somniar'."

He emitted a murmur of recognition. "You told me about that one. The night you came back from the Emerald Graves."

She remembered that night well, when he had happened upon her in her chambers, singing an Elven song. A tribute of sorts for an elderly woman they had encountered on the journey back to Skyhold, who had been attacked by bandits and later died from her wounds. The woman's death had stayed with Ellana, even upon their return to Skyhold. And ever since childhood, she had found singing to be a joy in the good moments and a comfort in the bad (partly due to her mother's own passion for it). Ellana had thought about singing the song before they burned the woman's body on the crudely-made funeral pyre, but not since her sister had been alive had she been comfortable singing in front of others.

Though she had been expecting Blackwall some point that night, she hadn't heard him come up the stairs until he was right at the landing, where he could clearly hear her. She had tried pretending it hadn't happened, but that didn't work for long. She remembered how earnest he was when he told her that her voice was beautiful. That he wanted to hear her finish the song. She had been hesitant at first, but when she saw how much he genuinely desired it (and the man never asked her for much of anything), she sang the whole song for him, such contentment on his face by its finish she had never seen before. Since that night, she had grown more comfortable singing around Blackwall. But only him. She was not about to fill in for Maryden at Herald's Rest any time soon.

"Ana?"

She ceased running her fingers through his hair. "Hmm?"

"I..." His voice faltered, cracking as it did the night he came to her chambers and pleaded with her to end things between them before they went even further, lacking all willpower to do it. When he spoke again, there was a hint of tentativeness behind it that hurt her to hear, as if he felt he didn't deserve what he was about to request, but still wanted to. "I should like to hear it. That song."

She cupped his jaw with her free hand, tilting his head up a bit for her to lean down and press an assenting kiss to his forehead, happy she was able to help him in some way. He nestled his head back against her shoulder, waiting for her to begin.

One of these days, she would find out why this conflict within himself existed. One of these days, in turn, she would tell him about what happened to her sister. But for now, she sang "Mir Da'len Somniar" for him (making sure her voice was soft enough it would not carry to their other companions in their tents, but loud enough for Blackwall to hear over the rain). Then she sang it again, this time resuming raking her thin fingers through his hair and scratching at his scalp. Then for a third time. Until she saw his eyelids flutter close and the worry lines of his face slacken and his snores filled the tent once more, having slipped into what Ellana could only hope was a more peaceful sleep.

* * *

A/N: The song Ellana sang in memory of the elderly woman is the same one Leliana sung in Origins after the Nature of the Beast quest, "In Uthenera." The Dalish lullaby "Mir Da'len Somniar" is in the _World of Thedas, Vol. 2._


End file.
